


not all who are lost will wander

by callmesera



Category: Persona 3
Genre: ( also there's HINTED NSFW involving teenagers being teenagers), ( i cannot emphasize enough there ARE SPOILERS), (If you know then you know), (and if you dont: move on), (but it's not even remotely explicit), (this fully reveals a major plot point after September), Canon-Typical Violence, Grief/Mourning, Hurt No Comfort, Other, Spoilers, Spoilers: post September
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-09
Updated: 2021-02-09
Packaged: 2021-03-15 01:42:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,128
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29305938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmesera/pseuds/callmesera
Summary: not all that is gold will glitter- ✤ -Ten days.Ten days since October 4th.
Relationships: Aragaki Shinjiro/Arisato Hamuko, Aragaki Shinjiro/Female Persona 3 Protagonist
Comments: 1
Kudos: 7





	not all who are lost will wander

**Author's Note:**

> Another drabble I wrote years ago for tumblr. Nothing has been altered from the original except for slight reformatting to fit AO3's display.

_Ten days_.

Ten days, she notices with no grand epiphany as she rolls over to turn the alarm on her phone off. She’s awake already, unfortunately, _blessedly_ awake – she doesn’t need the soft beeps of her phone to rouse her, anymore. Not when her dreams ( if they can even be called that ) do such an excellent job of keeping her up already.

Ten days, she thinks to herself, pulling the pillow she’s clutching to her chest even more tightly against her skin, clinging to the warmth it holds. It smells like memories; like the worn fabric of a red peacoat, wrapped around her shoulders to protect from the cold night’s chill. Like long, brown hair, threaded through her fingers while lips press against her jaw, her cheeks, her neck, everywhere they can reach. Like the soft touch of skin, accompanied by the only music they’d ever need – the racing, stuttering beat of two hearts in tandem, scared, uncertain… but loving. Always loving. As if there had never been any other choice.

Ten days, she repeats dully in her mind, slowly propping herself up in the bed to swing her legs over the side. _The_ bed, not **her** bed – she hasn’t slept in her own bed for the past nine nights. Not to say that she really sleeps in this bed, either, but at least here, surrounded by his scent, by his things – by _him_ – she can begin to find a sense of quiet, melancholy acceptance. It soothes her in a way that spending the nights in the empty, lonely atmosphere of her room never could, replacing the flashes back to _green-red-cold-hot-blood-fear- **screaming**_ with softer, happier images. The mock gruff stare given to her when she’d done something particularly stupid in Tartarus. A rumbling voice reminding her to laugh as they sat in the lobby of the dorm. Arms around her and that same deeply resonant voice, lower, huskier, whispering into her ear…

Ten days, she sighs wordlessly, her fingers making deft, short work of setting the pins in her hair, then tying the fabric at her chest into a perfect bow as she dresses. There’d only been one point in her life prior when a week and a half had seemed like such an infinitely long stretch of time, she realizes, and the connection between then and now would have her frowning if she weren’t so exhausted. It’d been ten years since she’d last felt like this, after the car crash and the memorials and the seemingly endless family and friends that had all crawled out of the woodwork to come comfort her after her loss. Those people no longer come, not now, not when she’s so much older, but once again she has lost, and this hasn’t gotten any easier with age like they’d all promised it would. What would she say to them now, were they here?

Ten days, she whispers to herself as she opens the door to his room and, with the coast clear, ducks swiftly upstairs to go grab her book bag from her room. The second day of midterms awaits her. Much like yesterday, she plans on drinking as much coffee as her body can manage before putting on a smile ( that doesn’t quite reach to the sadness reflected in her eyes, no matter how hard she tries to force it – ) and heading to school, praying that the countless nights of studying had prepared her well enough to run through the tests on what basically amounted to zero sleep. Yesterday’s tests had seemed easy enough. Small fortunes. ( not that it mattered if she’d trade any and all benefits of ‘luck’ away in a heartbeat if it meant having him back… )

Ten days.

Her mask slips on seamlessly the instant her feet hit the bottom floor of the dorm, shoulders down, back straight, chin up, eyes alert. She is the leader, and she will set the best example she can in times of crisis ~~even if it is her fault her fault her fault should have noticed should have made the connection should have finished the battle more quickly should have _saved him –_~~

Ten days.

With a smile that doesn’t quite match her usual bright grace, she waves to Amada and heads out the door, pretending she doesn’t still hear his anguished screams echo on an endless loop in her mind, or that it doesn't immediately snap her back to blood on her hands and that indescribably gentle look in _his_ eye when he’d turned to her.

Ten days.

She’s always been skilled at hiding herself when she wants to – deflecting questions and turning the conversation back on the other person had been a defense tactic she’d perfected at a very tender age, to avoid the probing, unpleasant topic of her past – but she’s found herself utilizing that talent more than she’d ever expected as of late. How many times has she murmured a rushed “I’m okay” in response to worried glances from her friends, or brushed her tired appearance off on the stress of midterms? She doesn’t know; she’s long since lost count. Enough people had seen her snap at that disrespectful student during the announcement that it had caught the attention of almost all of her school friends, which had been an interesting development to have to explain away. Such was life.

Ten days.

Ten days, since October 4th. Since Shinjiro had fallen. Since her world had been, inevitably, turned right on its head.

There’s no question of how to move forward, in her mind. Her mission is the same as always; lead SEES to the end of the Dark Hour, continue on as he’d so clearly wanted her to. The doctors have confirmed that he likely won’t wake up any time soon, if at all – which means that there’s only one option for her. She must work forward in his stead, look after Akihiko, and Amada, make sure no one else gets hurt ~~because of a lapse in judgement~~ because of forces beyond her control. Much like the strands of fate that had brought them together, she has no choice in accepting such responsibility – and thus, in accepting it, she’s also accepted that there is no room for her to stumble and fall. Profound, poignant sadness aside, to let herself to come undone at the loss of him, no matter how much she’d loved him, no matter how much her fault it was that she’d lost him, was to fail him, and that she just wouldn’t allow.

No matter what, Arisato Hamuko, field leader of SEES, would remain strong. For the ten days past, for ten days in the future, for ten days more… for as long as she’s required to be.

She will not lose anyone else. Not again. 

**Author's Note:**

> If you cry a little every year on October 4th lemme hear you say "AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA"


End file.
